


metathesis

by forochel



Series: metathesis//but. [1]
Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Canon Universe, Flashbacks, Future Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19868230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: Jinyoung and Jaebeom go on a trip in rural Japan before enlistment.metathesis: a change of place or conditionJinyoung wonders what it would be like if they lived in a different world, led different lives. So that Jinyoung could just be as direct as is his natural inclination, just have opened his mouth to say, all those years ago: I like you, Im Jaebeom.





	metathesis

**Author's Note:**

> according to my version history, I started working on this in march. it's been start-stop, but I'm glad to have finished this. thank you to bysine, my writing partner in crime. your comments are the starbursts under my ribs :) as well thanks to k, who dubbed this my japan rustication fic and read early parts of this. (eta) and also caught several embarrasing typos!

**You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you,**  
**but he loves you.**

2022

“Tohoku,” Jinyoung says, shaking out his map of Japan acquired several tours ago, so that it lies a little flatter on the coffee table. “Quiet. Countryside. Food. Mountains. Nature.”

Jaebeom’s sitting cross-legged, leaning back against the couch, a faint smile playing about his lips. He looks so comfortable there, like he belongs, like he hasn’t lived elsewhere and apart for the past three years and change. The stylists have given him the Verse 2 wavy centre-part again for this pre-enlistment round of promotions. It has always been one of Jinyoung’s favourite looks on him, and not just because they remind him of those hectic halcyon weeks.

“And...?” Jaebeom prompts, eyes already curving into knowing crescents, watching Jinyoung like he's still the greatest show on earth.

Jinyoung is a consummate performer if anything, so he delivers his punchline with a matching grin: “And a collapsing population. Risk of recognition: very low.”

* * *

2016

The silence presses in until his door slides open.

“Jinyoungie,” Mark says, and shuts it neatly with a click behind him. It’s only about five steps from the door to the bed, and Jinyoung feels himself tense further with every single one that Mark takes. “Hey, Jinyoung.”

Sighing, Jinyoung rolls onto his side and puts his book aside. “Hyung.”

“The gloom from you two is spreading all over the dorm,” Mark tells him. “Jackson and the maknae have escaped to get snacks.”

“And you didn’t go with them?”

“I’ve already showered.” And then Mark pins him with an expectant look.

Jinyoung sighs again and sits up, hugging his pillow to his chest. “I’m handling it, hyung. I just ... need some time. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Ah,” says Mark, and taps him on the ankle. “Jaebeom’s sulking now, though.”

Flopping back down, Jinyoung lets the impact of it drive the air out of his lungs. “I don’t want to -- I can’t look at him right now.”

There’s a pause as Mark taps out a beat absently against Jinyoung’s ankle bone.

“I mean,” Jinyoung trips on. “I’m not angry at him. He knows that. I just ...”

“Got overwhelmed?” Mark finishes for him, fingers stilling.

“Yeah.” Jinyoung closes his eyes and covers his face with a stuffed bear for good measure. The fur is soft against his skin, and it smells nice, safe, _uncomplicated_. Unlike the perfect storm that brews in his belly every time he and Jaebeom get a little too close, a little too obviously fond. And then sometimes it boils over and he has to retreat. It’s not like Jaebeom doesn’t do it either. “That.”

“Are you sure Jaebeom knows? That you’re not angry?”

The thing is, Jinyoung thinks Jaebeom knows. But he knows that he _wants_ Jaebeom to be able to know, just like that. Just like the way Jaebeom can read his mirth or his scepticism in the crinkling of his eyes and the tilt of his head. Jinyoung _wants_ to be known, soul-deep, and half-believes it is so; the trouble is that’s not an assumption entirely unfounded.

His silence stretches long enough to be interpreted as hesitation.

Drily, Mark says, “Okay. It’s just -- consider: it’s ... for us, watching your push and pull is ... hmmm, confusing enough. From the outside. I don’t know if it’s as confusing from the inside. But it might be. You know?”

And see, the _other_ thing is, it isn’t. Jinyoung knows what’s up, and he knows that Jaebeom knows, and Jaebeom knows he knows Jaebeom knows, ad nauseum.

“I don’t think it’ll be possible to not want it all,” Jinyoung tells Mark, deciding to be direct about this for once, uncovering his face and sitting up. “Like _everything_. Not ... if we started. Properly.”

And Mark meets his gaze, eyes big and sad, squeezes his hand sympathetically.

“You guys _are_ already really obvious like this,” he agrees, forcing mischief into his voice. “My cute little dongsaeng.”

Jinyoung barks out a laugh, caught off-guard. Mark almost never talks about their relationships in this way, much less predicate jokes on age hierarchy. He thinks Mark is going to leave at here, with teasing, maybe go off and talk to Jaebeom on this rarest of occasions when he plays the role of the oldest hyung.

But then Mark goes on, “But I mean, if you’re going to be obvious anyway why don’t you just, like ... like that story you two made us all listen to. Hide in plain sight?”

“I’m a competent actor, hyung,” Jinyoung says, looking away. “But I’m not that good.”

* * *

2022

It’s early enough and they’re both ungroomed enough underneath their dust masks that they manage to slip by mostly unnoticed. A woman does a double-take when she passes them after security, but she also looks like she needs more sleep than they do and is lugging along the kind of suitcase Jinyoung used as a prop in his courtroom drama. They crinkle their eyes into visible smiles, nod and walk on.

“I can’t believe our fans are old enough to be lawyers now,” Jaebeom murmurs sleepily, voice still hoarse and scratchy, as they settle into the waiting lounge, complimentary coffees in hand.

Jinyoung snorts and flaps a hand in a futile attempt to unfog his glasses. The coffee is fresh and hot, steam curling out of his mug unstoppably. “She could’ve been a noona fan.”

“Mmm,” Jaebeom hums, and slumps into his side. “Maybe we’ll meet halmeoni fans.”

“In the mountains,” Jinyoung deadpans. “Farmer halmeoni fans.”

“My mum’s a farmer,” says Jaebeom, like Jinyoung doesn’t know. “She’s a fan.”

Yawning, Jinyoung slumps back against Jaebeom. “It’d be sad if she weren’t.”

“Yeah,” mumbles Jaebeom, and sticks his face back into his coffee. He hasn’t shaved. He has a rough patch of skin under one ear. It’s far too early in the morning to be feeling this damned familiar blooming fondness cracking at Jinyoung’s ribs.

Jinyoung takes his phone out and thumbs into KKT, laughing a little at the waiting messages from Mark.

_can’t believe you’re going to the army and you still want to rough it out in the mountains._  
_for your romantic getaway._  
_Never letting you date me._

_No fear of that, hyung._

“Whassit?” Jaebeom asks blearily, having surfaced from his coffee.

Jinyoung tries and fails to figure out how to show Jaebeom only one message. “Mark-hyung can’t believe we’re _roughing it out_ before going to the army.”

Laughing softly, Jaebeom leans further into Jinyoung’s space before Jinyoung can lock his screen. “Tell him -- oh. Romantic getaway, huh?”

If it was too early for fondness balloons in Jinyoung’s chest, it’s definitely too early for the rousing of the anxiety monster.

“Mark-hyung’s probably tipsy,” he starts. “You know, that LA lifest --”

His words die in his throat, because Jaebeom’s looking at him instead of his phone now, much too close and face much too soft. Jinyoung tries focussing on how ridiculous his faint moustache is. Then Jaebeom hums again and leans back away so they’re only pressed together from shoulder to elbow.

There’s a smile in his voice when he says, “Mountains are pretty romantic, I think.”

* * *

2019

Jaebeom, not being the effusively demonstrative sort by nature, does not send a personal food truck but instead brings himself and a steaming hot bag of hotteok to the dorm.

Yugyeom texted him earlier, to tease. And so Jinyoung ended up watching clips of the radio show, hair still wet and dripping into the towel around his neck, while standing arrested in the kitchen doorway with his phone in one hand.

So lost in the tangled snarl of his thoughts is Jinyoung that he only notices Jaebeom’s arrival when the man himself starts laughing right in Jinyoung’s face.

“What are you _doing_?”

Gaze snapping up, Jinyoung is greeted with Jaebeom curling in on himself with how hard he’s cracking up. He can feel his mouth twitching into a reciprocal smile, just listening to the bright ring of Jaebeom’s laughter.

“Yah,” says Jinyoung instead, rescuing the paper bag from Jaebeom’s clutches. “What are _you_ doing?” And then, looking in the bag — “Don’t you know I’m on a diet? Aren’t _you_ on a diet?”

Jaebeom takes the bag back from him as he straightens up, mouth still trembling and eyes still bright with laughter. “Hush,” he says, herding Jinyoung into the kitchen and setting the bag down on the counter. “You don’t need to be on a diet.”

And then he pokes Jinyoung in the abs for emphasis.

To his dying day, Jinyoung will deny squeaking in surprise. Clearing his throat, Jinyoung strives for impish. “I mean, you’ve made your thoughts on this abundantly clear.”

The way that Jaebeom’s ears flush pink makes Jinyoung’s blood fizz, makes him feel a little light with ... anticipation, maybe. The sort of feeling he finds himself constantly chasing the high of, even if he knows neither of them will ever let it go anywhere.

Ducking his chin a little, Jaebeom says, “Just eat your hotteok,” and shoves one, hastily wrapped in kitchen towel, at Jinyoung.

Jinyoung takes it obediently, and — yes, all right, it’s been so long since he’s had a sweet treat, and the gooey, cinnamon-sharp sweetness of the filling with the chewiness of the griddle-warm dough is _so good_ , he has to close his eyes for a bit.

When he swallows the first bite and opens his eyes again, fondness is writ achingly clear across Jaebeom’s face. There’s a little bit of sticky filling smudging the corner of his mouth, and Jinyoung _wants_ with a sudden sharp pang to just lean in and taste. He’s only ever really felt this desire around Jaebeom.

“It’s not the only thing you made your thoughts clear on,” Jinyoung says instead, shaking his phone. “Yugyeomie made sure to let me know.”

“Ah, well —” and Jaebeom’s ducking his head again, smile now pulling wryly lopsided. “I enjoyed this album, but for ours...” He looks up. “I don’t want people to forget.”

Jinyoung absorbs this quietly, chewing it over. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to accomplish here, other than stave off the vague feeling of foreboding, other than the constant fear of disapproval from up on high. Sighing, he says, “Hyung, you know you don’t need to —”

“I _want_ to,” Jaebeom interrupts, brows drawn. There’s a twist to his mouth that says he’s confused by Jinyoung, a little frustrated. Like he thinks Jinyoung doesn’t _get_ that impulse. “I’m just being honest.”

Oh, hyung, Jinyoung wants to say, to reach out, cradle Jaebeom’s face in his palms and smooth the furrow in Jaebeom’s forehead away. He blinks at Jaebeom, searching for other words. Finding none — not really knowing what to say without bringing this whole house of cards down around their ears — he huffs out a laugh. “Okay. Okay, thank you, hyung.”

* * *

2022

They land in Sendai in glorious anonymity, drift through arrivals, customs, and duty-free with an unaccustomed sense of ease before finding the bus that’ll take them into the mountains. Between the two of them they probably have enough rolls of film to re-enact Inglourious Basterds.

“I think the film is different now.” Jaebeom fingers the edge of the film he’s trying to feed into place with fingers made clumsy by travel exhaustion. “Otherwise we’d have blown up the dorm.”

Jinyoung hums, busy looking it up on his phone. The pocket wifi is still working for now; they’d been warned by the rental company that service wasn’t guaranteed so far into the mountains. Which suits Jinyoung just fine, to be honest.

“Ah, safe!” Leaning into Jaebeom to make him pay attention, he continues, “The film that blows up was made from cellulose nitrate, but now film is made from cellulose _acetate_. Oh wow, hyung, apparently you have to put cellulose nitrate in a freezer.”

“See,” says Jaebeom absently, already going back to trying to load his film roll. “I told you.”

Huffing, Jinyoung puts his phone away and takes the camera and film from Jaebeom. “Yah, let me do it, you haven’t woken up yet.”

Through the bus windows, the mountains march on into the hazy horizon beyond deep green fields growing furiously.

Jaebeom’s laugh has Jinyoung looking up from where he’s winding the film into place. Some wag has decided to grow their vegetables in the shape of Naruto in one field. Even farmers must find their jollies somewhere. In the absence of a camera, Jaebeom has his phone out and is zooming furiously to catch the Naruto before the bus leaves it behind.

Swelling affection has Jinyoung reaching out to pull at his earlobe. “We’ll probably see it again on our way back, you know.”

“In a week,” Jaebeom says, turning back, “who knows what the crops will look like.”

“I suppose you’d know better than me.” Jinyoung looks down, winds the film a few more times just to make sure, and loads the film. “Here you go, hyung.”

Taking the camera from him, Jaebeom nudges him in the side. “Thanks, Jinyoungie. What would I do without you?”

Sighing, Jinyoung slides down in his seat and leans his head, suddenly heavy, on Jaebeom’s shoulder. “Die, probably.”

“Probably,” Jaebeom agrees, affection threading through his voice. “Nap, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

It isn’t that Jinyoung doesn’t trust Jaebeom, but ... “Hmm, where’s ‘there’?”

“Obanzawa city hall,” recites Jaebeom in a monotone. The eyeroll is audible in his voice, and Jinyoung swats his thigh in retaliation.

Jaebeom’s shoulder is really comfortable, though, especially when he shifts to sling an arm around Jinyoung so that Jinyoung’s head is cradled in the soft, fleshy hollow where shoulder meets breast.

“‘kay,” mumbles Jinyoung, letting his eyelids drag shut.

He’s shaken awake what feels like a few moments later to be disgorged from the bus along with a group of what Jaebeom tells him are middle-aged Taiwanese tourists. Apparently an uncle with an enormous DSLR had noticed Jaebeom’s little film Leica and struck up a stilted conversation somehow frankensteined together in broken English, Japanese and mime.

“You said there’d be nobody here,” Jaebeom teases, as they stand behind the gaggle of aunties and uncles all chattering to each other in rapid-fire Mandarin. They sound a little different from how Jackson and Mark speak it; not that it matters for either Jinyoung or Jaebeom’s chances at comprehension.

Jinyoung can feel himself pout automatically and doesn’t do a thing to stop it. “I didn’t say _nobody_...!”

“Collapsing population,” Jaebeom continues, making air quotes.

“No one’s recognised us yet!” Jinyoung protests. He’s a little too loud, and an auntie waiting patiently in the rear of the tour group turns towards them.

“You are good friends?” she asks in English, beaming at them under her sun visor. “You sleeping —” and here she presses her palms together and leans a cheek against the back of one hand, before pointing to Jaebeom. “On him. Very cute.”

“Ah, ah,” Jaebeom starts stammering. His English has improved over the years, but it always takes him a while to warm up with it.

Jinyoung hides a bashful laugh behind his hand in the way he knows is a guaranteed auntie-killer. It probably works on Taiwanese aunties too. “Thank you,” he says, ignoring her question.

“Oh!” she says, “or ... not just good friends?”

They stare at her, speechless.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” this terrifyingly insightful auntie says, flapping her hands at them. “Taiwan is very open, you know. You want marry, come to Taiwan.”

“Oh my god,” Jaebeom says in Korean.

“I’ve heard,” says Jinyoung, smiling his modelling smile at her. And thankfully, the last of the tour group’s luggage seems to have been unloaded. A man is hailing her from closer to the clump of brightly coloured bags. “Oh, is that your bag?”

She turns back briefly and yells something that sounds like _Wait_. “Yes! You be happy, okay? Nice trip.”

“You too,” Jinyoung says weakly as she trots off, before turning to Jaebeom. “Um, hyung ... we should probably get our stuff too?”

He watches as Jaebeom gives himself a shake all over, like a dog coming out of the water.

“Right, right,” Jaebeom mutters, before flicking a piercing glance up at Jinyoung. Slinging his backpack onto the pavement next to Jinyoung, he instructs, “Stay here, I’ll go get them,” before jogging towards the luggage hold.

It’s good of him, and the sort of thing that makes Jinyoung warm all over with satisfaction, because they both need space to process what’s just happened and Jaebeom _knows_ that. It’s always so easy and comfortable with Jaebeom. Hope unfurls through his veins.

* * *

2017

Jinyoung was afraid they wouldn’t know how to be just the two of them again, like trying to force puzzle pieces cut just the slightest angle wrong together. Like trying to overlay their current selves onto their configuration at eighteen would expose some unimagined, fundamental flaw in what they’d built over the past four years, in and around the five additions to their family.

But making the album helped with easing them back into it, into being twin suns locked in mutual orbit, with an entire solar system of staff focussed just on them. Locked into the studio together to thresh out lyrics, willingly subjecting themselves to emotional disembowelment over and over again like Prometheus on the rocks so that they could be sure that they were telling important stories, so personal they would be deeply felt to the blood and the bone.

“This,” Jinyoung says late one night — so late that he dragged Jaebeom home from the studio so that they could shower and restart in the comfort of their pyjamas and Jinyoung could wrap himself in his duvet whilst contemplating the fundamental uncertainty of living life. “This is never going to be a commercial success, hyung. You know that, right?”

Jaebeom’s lying diagonally across his bed, the hog; one of Jinyoung’s feet is tucked under his hip. Jinyoung nudges him with a toe. Jaebeom squirms a bit, before turning a little so that Jinyoung is confronted with that three-quarter profile, the achingly elegant line of his nose and the soft lines of his exhaustion-puffy face.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom drawls, lazy vowels dragging the same way his eyelids are. “It’s okay. That’s not as important to me, for this album.”

The heady intimacy of the way Jaebeom is looking at him, in his bedroom lit only by his reading light, makes Jinyoung want to close his eyes. Instead, he comes to his knees, reaches out to poke Jaebeom’s cheek and take away the notebook dangling from his fingers.

“Go to sleep, hyung,” Jinyoung murmurs, trying to tug Jaebeom in vertical alignment with the bed. “We’re useless like this.”

Jaebeom allows himself to be swivelled, pliant and sleep-heavy. Jinyoung honestly was expecting him to roll grumpily out of bed and go back to his own room, but Jaebeom just curls up on his side and buries his face into a pillow. He must be really tired. Which is fine.

It’s all fine, even as Jinyoung is listening to the initial mix for a sad post-break-up song tentatively titled Fade Away, and aching on so many different levels.

Even if Jackson keeps giving him _looks_ and asking _questions_ , whenever they video call each other.

And then there was the shoot in rural Hokkaido.

Jaebeom’s more relaxed here.

Maybe it’s the air, the mountains, the soaring sense of insignificance when standing in a field of wildflowers, deep blue sky infinite over their heads. Maybe it’s because neither of them have to do any corralling, except for maybe runaway feelings that threaten to burst out from behind lock and key.

At the tail end of the long spring twilight, the shadows cast long by the trees are blue and grey, the sky fading reluctantly into black, the sinking sun lining the ridgeline across the far pastures in deep pink and gold.

On the creaky old rattan chairs out on the cabin deck, they wait for night proper to fall so they can film indoor scenes for the MV, sitting with roasted barley tea and watching the sky.

When Jinyoung turns to remark on the peace despite the bustle of the production crew in the cabin, he finds Jaebeom already looking at him, some unreadable expression on his face.

"What?" He asks, half-laughing, feeling inexplicably shy.

Jaebeom shakes his head. the look doesn’t quite melt all the way away even as he smiles and holds up his camera.

"Just thinking about framing. Do you mind?"

Jinyoung frowns at him; Jaebeom is a terrible liar and doesn’t normally even _try_ pulling one over Jinyoung, by this point.

"Why would I?”

"Oh, well," Jaebeom flusters. Gods, Jinyoung wishes to his bones they could just do away with this farce without consequence.

So he smiles, wide and cheesily ironic, says, "That's okay, I'll just go back to sitting here and looking pretty."

Jaebeom laughs and brings his camera up to his face.

"Yeah," he says, warm and amused, "you do that, Jinyoungie."

Jaebeom smiles so easily here, so often and so gladly that his eyes seem permanently creased into crescents.

Their staff photographer remarks on this to Jinyoung the next day, when Jaebeom’s off in a paddock photographing a stand of trees.

“A nature boy,” says Seojun-hyung, smiling fondly at Jaebeom’s back, bent over something or other. Jinyoung can’t blame him; he can feel a similar quirk in the corners of his mouth. “He seems so light.”

“It’s probably because the kids aren’t around.” Jinyoung’s only half-joking.

“Ah, well, you two don’t really have a leader, though, do you? You balance out so well.”

Jinyoung blinks at him. “Jaebeom-hyung’s still the leader...?”

“Oh, he probably goes to more meetings, yes.” Seojun-hyung tilts the screen on his DSLR towards Jinyoung so he can review the behind-the-scenes photographs that Seojun-hyung has captured so far. “But you two ... you’re more like equal partners.”

He lets himself indulge a little bit, maybe. At least with the camouflage of having to be _artsy_ and _poetic_ for the photo book Jinyoung may have the luxury of a little more unvarnished honesty.

And he thinks, later, when he’s looking at the proofs in the privacy of his room, that perhaps Jaebeom did too.

* * *

2022

They do meet halmeoni a third of the way up a mountain road.

A tiny wooden shack perches cheerfully by the side of the road, with a cushioned bench round the side and some tall stools tucked under the counter over which two old ladies are serving late spring treats and freshly cut fruits. One of the stools is occupied by a balding man in pale linens, a bright yellow haori, and a rakishly tipped straw hat.

“ _Dango_ ,” Jaebeom espies from afar and declares with no small amount of ardour. This is what happens when someone gets laser surgery done. “Jinyoungie, can we —?”

Jinyoungie says yes, of course.

It feels so nice to let themselves be drawn into a conversation with the halmeoni and their regular customer, to let time stretch like taffy on this sun-drenched morning, to just sit and play the captivated audience to the banter between the three irascible old folks.

"He moved here from Kyoto," Mori-san tells them after unearthing their travel plans, travel history, and familiarity with Japan, as well as all the whys thereof. Or at least Jinyoung thinks that’s what has been happening. Their accents are so thick here. "Crazy man."

"Have you been to Kyoto in the last ten years, woman?" Taguchi-san gesticulates wildly. His accent sounds a bit like the Gwangju accent, except ... in Japanese. "It's mostly tourists now!"

Jinyoung and Jaebeom, tourists, shift awkwardly in their seats.

“Oh,” says Yamanaka-san, who’s a little quieter than the other two. “I’m sure you two are fine, of course. So handsome and polite! And you can speak Japanese.”

Jaebeom, who has been mostly quietly laughing and devouring the enormous mitarashi dango in bites that would be improbable were Jinyoung not so habituated to them, looks at her with alarm.

They do make their escape eventually, still a little sticky with mitarashi syrup, the hearty well-wishes of the dango stall trio, and a roughly-drawn map Taguchi-san procured out of his sleeve for them. Somewhere along his rendition of the culturally significant Natagiri-toge pass that Jinyoung and Jaebeom are hiking up to, he’s drawn in a stylised little roadside shrine to Gwan-eum.

“Not the big one on the tourist website,” he’d said, “the small one.”

They find the carpark at the start of the heritage path soon enough; it’s fairly empty on a weekday morning.

“Looks like we’ll have it almost all to ourselves,” Jinyoung says with some satisfaction.

In the shade of thick beech forest, the earth smells rich and alive. The winding path is springy with fallen leaves underfoot, and light filters green through the canopy, shifting shadows dancing along the brown earth and silvery tree bark as leaves rustle quietly in the gentle breeze.

They go slowly, stopping often to photograph a fallen log; a spray of leaves; an interestingly whorled knot breaking up the smooth silver skin of a beech.

The foliage is thick here, so that it is several degrees cooler and several shades dimmer than it was outside the forest. Shafts of sunlight slant through gaps in the canopy, or where the leaves thin out. Jinyoung is standing in one of these, face turned up to the warmth of it, when some long-honed instinct has him turning back to find Jaebeom squinting through his viewfinder at him.

There’s a quick flurry of shutter clicks as Jinyoung, in rapid succession, experiences too many feelings to process right at the moment.

“What are you _doing_?” he demands.

“Capturing the moment,” Jaebeom says, lowering the camera and smiling at him. It’s disarming as always, that particular joyful tilt to his brows and flash of white teeth.

“Moment,” Jinyoung echoes. “What moment? It’s hot and I’m sweaty and there are midges all about.”

Jaebeom’s peal of laughter rings around the glade spread out about the wide forest path. He swings an arm wide and around. “It’s beautiful.”

 _You’re beautiful_ , he does not say, but Jinyoung fancies he hears it anyway.

“So sentimental,” says Jinyoung, feeling his ears flush a little.

* * *

2015

They have — a difference of opinion. It scares the members, who’ve mostly escaped the living room, where they’re having it out.

It started with, as with most of their fights, the small grit of irritation rolling along, gathering mass and weight and density until an avalanche breaks. Everyone who doesn’t know him thinks that Jinyoung’s temper runs cold. What a joke. Together, he and Jaebeom fighting make a conflagration.

And all it took to set flame to the dry tinder of Jinyoung’s amassing resentment was him walking into the kitchen at precisely the wrong time, to see Jaebeom leave a recently demolished pot of ramyeon, stained red and glossy with oil, in an already full sink.

“For fuck’s sake, Jinyoung,” Jaebeom exclaims at last. “This isn’t about the dishes at all! I’ll wash the stupid fucking pot! What _is it_?”

Jaebeom face is flushed, his jaw set, and yet — he hasn’t flown off the handle the way that he is wont to do. The way Jinyoung has, until this very moment, where he is set so off-balance it feels like cold water has been poured down the back of his neck.

“I ...” The words overcrowd and leave him speechless.

He hears Youngjae’s sotto voce “ _Daebak_ ” faintly from where the maknae are huddled around the corner, obstructing the bedroom corridor. Mark, after trying to make them see reason, stalked out with disgust earlier. Jackson is probably with the maknae.

Jaebeom hears him too, and rolls his eyes with such exasperation it lifts Jinyoung’s stupid, small heart.

“Come on,” he says, reaching out to grab Jinyoung by the wrist. “Let’s go to the kitchen. You can supervise me cleaning the pot.”

Still tongue-tied, now with embarrassment as well — to have lost it so thoroughly and volubly in front of the _babies_ — Jinyoung lets himself be pulled along quietly, eyes cast low.

Jaebeom stops in front of the sink and wrenches the faucet open, dumps a good slug of dish soap into the pot.

“I hate it when you do that,” Jinyoung says without heat, the words finally sorting themselves out in his head. The anger drained away so fast he’s left a little light-headed and a lot ashamed.

“Do what?” Jaebeom snaps. There are still traces of rage in his voice; his hackles are still up. Jinyoung only feels a little hollowed out, a little sad, and a lot tired now.

Jinyoung tries out a little smile. “Say the right thing.”

Jaebeom stills, before he scrubs hard at a bit of burnt kimchi stuck to the side of the pot. “You’re not answering my question, Jinyoung-ah.”

The return of the diminutive makes Jinyoung go weak all over. He hadn’t realised how much tension his body was holding until it was gone.

“I don’t even know why,” he says and hands Jaebeom the pot scourer. “It was stupid. I’m ... sorry. I took it out on you.”

Jaebeom stops scrubbing and turns to him. When Jinyoung assiduously avoids his gaze, he reaches out with a hand to grip him by the nape of the neck. It is unpleasantly soapy.

“ _Hyung_ ,” he starts to whine, before he’s cut off by a brief shake.

“There’s no way you don’t know why,” Jaebeom tells him. “You think too much for that.”

Jinyoung hates fighting with Jaebeom precisely because they know each other too well. It’s so easy for them to hurt each other; sometimes Jinyoung thinks of it as an unwanted talent: the way he can pluck out and pick apart all the tenderest, most vulnerable things that Im Jaebeom tries to hide from the world. They're locked in mutually assured destruction.

“Fine,” he huffs. “But, I’ll tell you when I’m ready, okay? Not ... not tonight.” He’s still feeling a little too much, and just overwhelmingly tired from the past fortnight of non-stop promotions, filming, having to perform chirpy extroversion for the cameras. Not that it’s an _excuse_ , but ... Jinyoung feels a little rubbed raw.

Jaebeom eyes him, and Jinyoung meets his gaze this time.

Whatever Jaebeom sees makes his face soften and his hand release Jinyoung’s neck. “Fine. But sooner than later, Jinyoung-ah. I mean it.”

* * *

2022

They take another bus out to Ginzan Onsen, nestled deep in the mountains of Yamagata, the day after their hike up to Natagiri Pass.

Ostensibly, they planned this so that they could soothe hike-sore muscles and explore the kinder hills. What actually happens, of course, is that Jaebeom promptly drags them out the moment they’ve put down their bags for “a short stroll” that turns into an hour-long walk out to the silver mines that gave the town its name.

“A short stroll, he said,” Jinyoung deadpans two waterfalls and undeniably picturesque bridges later, as he follows Jaebeom down into the now-defunct mines. “It won’t take too long, he said.”

Jaebeom turns back, laughing. Shadows thrown by the warm yellow light from torches set into the cave walls deepen the cut of his cheekbones, the strength in his brow. “We’re stretching our legs out, Jinyoungie. Come on, don’t you want to learn about the history of this place?”

“We could have done this _tomorrow_ ,” Jinyoung grumps. His feet ache and it is uncomfortably cool in the cave.

“Tomorrow,” Jaebeom says, “I thought we might sleep in.”

Stepping gingerly down the damp stairs, Jinyoung says, “You take delayed gratification as a virtue too far, Jaebeom-ah.”

Jaebeom only laughs again; the bell-like brightness of it echoes down the tunnel they’re in, plucks at Jinyoung’s heart.

The mining history of Ginzan is interesting enough, but Jinyoung is still glad to be out of the caves at long last and back in the sun and cool, clear mountain air.

“Well, brave Im-leader,” he says, stretching his arms over his head and tilting his face up to the hot spill of sunshine, spidering red through his eyelids. “What are your marching orders?”

There’s an over-long pause.

Without opening his eyes, Jinyoung says, “Jaebeom-ah, you’d better not be taking more photos of me.”

“I have to save the memories somehow.” Jaebeom sounds sheepish even as his shutter clicks away. “I’m already thirty, you know. Memory starts going.”

Jinyoung unbends, grimacing as his back cracks a little, and opens his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“ _You’re_ ridiculous,” is Jaebeom’s weak riposte. “This whole circuit is only about a kilometre and a half.”

“Every step,” Jinyoung declaims dramatically, “is one too many.”

Jaebeom takes Jinyoung by the elbow, his camera swinging from his neck. “Come on, hyung will buy you ice cream on our way in.”

He does, too — soba-flavoured soft serve, of all things, topped with crispy fried soba bits. Jinyoung doesn’t quite know what to make of it, and lets Jaebeom have most of it. They pass by a red-eaved bakery that takes up both floors of a machiya, and are drawn in by the smells wafting out the door.

“We’re having breakfast here tomorrow,” Jinyoung tells Jaebeom as they wait for their treats.

“Sure,” Jaebeom agrees easily, poking at the aloe plant decorating the long table they’ve been seated at. They’re at the balcony hanging over the main street, and there’s only half-height railings in the minimalist, Japanese style standing between Jaebeom’s itchy fingers and some unfortunate on the street dying from a pot to the head.

“Yah, Jaebeom-ah,” Jinyoung snaps, reaching out to grab his hand.

Jaebeom grins at him, mischievous and boyish and so infuriatingly _cute_. Jinyoung gives his hand a shake and drops it.

Their ice coffees arrive then, along with the bakery’s eponymous curry pan for Jaebeom and Jinyoung’s deliciously cold cream anmitsu.

When Jaebeom splits his curry pan with the side of his fork, steam billows out along with the oddly sweet and savoury scent of Japanese curry. As expected, he burns his tongue on his first enormous bite.

“You are a fool,” Jinyoung tells him, superior and fond in equal measure.

“Ow,” Jaebeom curses, “ow, fuck, ow.”

They decide to have an early dinner, and order another curry pan and two kinds of soba to share around five.

Thus they spend the rest of this lazy spring afternoon: occupying a corner of the balcony, pointing out particularly interesting individuals in the constant eddy and swirl of people down below to each other, making up stories that have them collapsed against each other in silent laughter when a server comes to check on them.

“Why,” asks Jaebeom as they wend their way back to their ryokan for a soak and early night in, “have we never written a song about people-watching?”

“Because you write sexy baby-makers and I write sad songs,” Jinyoung says.

“I don’t write _only_ —” Jaebeom splutters.

Jinyoung smirks to himself while they pause in the genkan to slip their shoes off and put on the guest slippers.

“You are such a brat,” Jaebeom sighs.

Their room is on the second storey, and faces onto the mountains that encircle Ginzan. It is also enormous, the lucky result of some sort of double-booking error that stressed Jinyoung out for about half an hour while they were given tea, a sweet, and sat down to wait whilst the staff apparently opened up and aired out the 6 person room for them.

After a good long while of just lying down on the sweet-smelling tatami and letting their limbs sink, heavy and weary, Jaebeom finally groans and rolls over to lever himself up.

“Come on, Jinyoungie.” He nudges at Jinyoung’s hip with his toe. “Let’s go soak.”

“No,” Jinyoung says petulantly, but gets up anyway.

He’s glad for it in the end, once they’re scrubbed clean and letting the heat and sulphur work their wonders on sore muscles. They’ve miraculously managed to have the outdoor pool all to themselves. It’s possible the other guests occupying the other 8 rooms in this ryokan are all women and therefore sequestered away on their side; the giggles floating over the reed divider would back this up.

The sun is finally sinking behind the mountains in the distance. The bite of winter lingers still in the night air, this far into the mountains, even despite the onsen; Jinyoung sinks a little further into the hot water, rests his head on the stone ledge and lets his feet float up a little, lets the water take his weight and buoy him up.

He watches Jaebeom across the pool under his lashes. Jaebeom’s gazing out the open front of the gazebo under which the pool sits. His arms are folded on the ledge, his broad shoulders just above the water and a hazy beige through the steam, the cut of his shoulderblades refracted in the clear water.

“I wish we could stay here,” Jinyoung finds himself saying, lazy and wistful, Jinhae curling around his vowels the way it does when he’s really relaxed.

Jaebeom hums in question, rolling over to face Jinyoung and sliding a little closer.

Jinyoung swishes his fingers through the water, watches the ripples spread out and smooth away into placidity again over the reflection of Jaebeom’s face. “I wish we could stay here,” he repeats. He’s suddenly acutely aware that it’s just the two of them in here, in this hot, humid, pressing quiet. The party of women on the other side has departed. “Just like this, forever.”

And Jinyoung has known for over a decade now that Jaebeom’s sentimentality is funnelled chiefly into the lines of his songs, but it still chafes a little when Jaebeom makes a questioning noise. “Here? It’s not good to soak too long, Jinyoungie.”

“ _Hyung._ ” He sounds petulant even to his own ears. Jinyoung stretches out a foot to kick at Jaebeom’s shin.

Jaebeom sighs out a laugh and rolls his head back, neck cracking. Jinyoung’s eyes catch on the strong tendons in the pale column of his neck, the faint flush of heat working its way up from Jaebeom’s chest. The way his fringe lies limp in this damp heat across his forehead.

Dropping his chin, Jaebeom sighs again, deep with satisfaction. “I know what you mean. Me too.”

Jinyoung wonders what it would be like if they lived in a different world, led different lives. So that Jinyoung could just be as direct as is his natural inclination, just have opened his mouth to say, all those years ago: I like you, Im Jaebeom.

* * *

2019

“Hyungie,” Bambam starts, plaintive. “Why... I mean I understand you can’t be public, but we can help you keep it a secret! I keep _lots_ of secrets.”

Jinyoung smiles at him, feeling his eyes go soft. This sweet, tender-hearted boy.

In the absence of an actual verbal response, Bambam rattles on — he’s grown better with silence over time, but still feels compelled to fill them in.

“You just look sad sometimes, hyung,” Bambam says, and puts Pudding, innocently wandering by, in Jinyoung’s lap. It makes a questioning noise, turning round and round before settling in to knead at Jinyoung’s thigh. On the scale of 1 to Nora, it ranks maybe at an eight point five.

“Mmm,” Jinyoung hums, stroking a firm line along the cat’s spine. “Maybe it’s because you lie about my non-existent exhibitionist tendencies to our Thai ahgase, brat.”

Bambam is startled into a high cackle — to which Pudding takes affront and digs her claws into _Jinyoung_ ’s innocent thigh before stalking off.

“You totally show more skin now, hyung! You took your hoodie off when we had barbeque the other day! Oh- oh my god,” Bambam gasps, eyes widening. Jinyoung pre-emptively reaches for a couch cushion, the better to batter him with. “Are you trying to rile Jaebeom-hyung up? Is this you finally making a move?”

Jinyoung smacks him in the face with the cushion and doesn’t relent, even as Bambam keels over laughing hysterically.

“Clearly,” Jinyoung says, punctuating each word with a whack to Bambam's unrepentant bum, “I didn’t discipline you enough as a child.”

“Mercy!” Bambam cries. “Mercy, mercy!”

“You don’t deserve mercy.” But Jinyoung hugs the cushion to himself anyway. He’s missed this: spending time with his boys away from cameras, away from the eyes of the public, away from any sort of work-related artifice. The dorm is hollow now. He’s been looking at apartment listings, but it’s hard to find the time to go for showings.

Flopping over onto his back, Jinyoung stares up at the stucco reliefs that border the living room ceiling. He wonders which came first: Bambam’s residence or the stucco. Either way, the lush Baroque design is very much Bambam. Just as much as the parade of cats that apparently absolutely have to make across Jinyoung’s abdomen to the other side of the living room.

Jinyoung turns his head to track them, the thick piling of the cream carpet tickling the side of his face. “What on earth ...”

Bambam just laughs. “They’re cats, hyung.”

“I seriously don’t get cats. Your cats, Jaebeom-hyung’s cats ...”

“They like you, though.”

They watch as the cats parade back to settle around and onto Jinyoung, who accepts his fate for the next half an hour as a cat pillow. Bambam snaps a photograph and sends it to the group chat.

“Ah,” Bambam says, high and pleased and knowing in a way that makes the hair on the back of Jinyoung’s neck stand. “Jaebeom hyung says his cats are jealous. Meaning, of course, that he is jealous.”

Jinyoung groans and throws the cushion in his arms at Bambam. “Yah, _stop it_. He hasn’t even invited me to his new place.”

“Really?” Bambam sounds surprised, and there’s the sound of him tapping quickly away at his phone. Jinyoung doesn’t want to know. He’ll find out later anyway. “Do _you_ need an invitation, though?”

Ignoring the truth in his question — because, really, if Jinyoung weren’t snowed under by drama filming and the basic necessities of life, he wouldn’t be waiting for Jaebeom to remember to extend an invitation to him. Taking hold of Cupcake, curled up on his belly, Jinyoung cradles it in his hands as he sits upright to glare. “Stop trying to make things happen, Bam-ah. It’s not going to any time soon.”

* * *

2022

It’s like the waters of the onsen have sluiced away Jinyoung’s self-possession. His eyes keep catching on Jaebeom in the changing room; the cut of his hip, the curve of his calf, the shadowed dip where his clumsily tied yukata parts over his sternum.

He’s used to being _looked at_ , used to the way Jaebeom unconsciously flicks his eyes down his body and up again. But to have the tables turned like this, when he is so conscious of the way the ties of his self-restraint are loosening, sets the pit of his stomach churning.

And Jaebeom catches him at it too.

Jaebeom goes a little pink, before raising his eyebrows and quirking his mouth in a smirk that’s usually reserved for concerts, MVs, and screaming fans. Jinyoung, already heat-flushed from the onsen, goes a little hotter all over.

But Jaebeom doesn’t say anything while they walk back to their room, the silence twanging with tension between them. Jinyoung is sorry to have lost the peace of the baths.

He sinks into one of the chairs at the low, square table set near the windows, and lets out a long, low breath. Closes his eyes, metaphorically girds his loins.

“Tired?” Jaebeom asks, over the sounds of a kettle being set to boil.

Jinyoung lets his head loll to the side his voice is coming from. “Yes.”

“Mmm. Roast barley or, uh, camomile?”

Jinyoung opens an eye. Jaebeom’s mostly turned away from him, frowning down at the print on the tea bags in concentration. Fondness, unbidden, suffuses him down to his toes. “Barley, thank you.” He closes his eye.

The kettle burbles over and whistles; the sounds of water hissing over teabags follow.

Jaebeom’s feet pad closer over the tatami, and Jinyoung opens his eyes and sits up to thank him again, wrap his hands around the clay mug.

“This has been a nice holiday, hasn’t it?”Jaebeom asks, folding himself down catty-corner to Jinyoung. He’s got a lot better at small talk and approaching things sideways over the years. Jinyoung doesn’t like it, though. He doesn’t like that Jaebeom is using these hard-earned skills on _him_.

“It’s barely half over, hyung,” Jinyoung says, meeting his eyes. “Don’t talk about it like it’s over.”

Jaebeom smiles. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to thank you for inviting me along.”

“Inviting you al —” Jinyoung echoes disbelievingly. “It isn’t, you’re not just a _guest_ on my tour! I wanted, we —”

“We what?” Jaebeom asks, eyes sharp and focussed solely on Jinyoung.

The churning in his stomach gets worse.

“We ... planned it together,” Jinyoung says weakly. “Didn’t we?”

Jaebeom stares at him. Jinyoung can practically see whirring of his brain.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “We did. I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to - to imply ... It’s just, you know. We’re going to be away for two years. Surely there are other people you want to see —”

“No!” Jinyoung’s outburst cuts through the peaceful stillness that settled like down over the town as night fell. “No, hyung, I wanted _you_.”

His unintended declaration falls like a sword, cleaving the space between them. They stare at each other. Jaebeom’s mouth has fallen open, his eyes blown wide. Dizzily, Jinyoung fancies he can see the future split into two paths: one they walk together, as always; and one where ... they don’t.

"Why now, Jinyoungie?" Jaebeom asks quietly, blinking rapidly.

Everything is quiet again, so quiet. Early cicadas buzz outside, and there’s the occasional distant rise of chatter from the main street. But in their room, in the low lamp-lit bubble that they’re sitting in, teas in hand, it is very still. A little bubble of anticipation.

All this while the unspoken promise has always been: after army, we'll see after that. The army changes people, everyone says. Sometimes in subtle ways, sometimes in big ways.

Jinyoung thought he'd be able to wait, but. He’s not so patient as his public image makes him out to be, after all.

"I wanted to be sure, I guess," he murmurs, looking away. He tightens his grip on his mug of tea, pressing his fingertips into the perfectly-placed depressions some craftsman impressed into the clay. "Before... before we both go away."

He hears rustling cloth, the whisper of cotton, and then there are thick fingers tucked under his chin. When his face is tilted up, Jaebeom has on that gentle warm smile reserved solely for him and sometimes the maknae. His _eyes_ , though — they’re molten.

"Nyoung-ah," Jaebeom breathes. The still air around them thickens. "I've always been a sure thing."

Jinyoung can feel the flush starting up from his sternum and spread like wildfire to his ears, tries and fails in tamping down on the answering smile breaking across his face as inexorably as a sunrise.

“Can I —” he swallows hard, watches as Jaebeom’s eyes flick down and up again, which gives him courage. “Please kiss me.”

He watches Jaebeom’s eyes go wide again for the second time tonight, before they crease into happy crescents and Jaebeom start _laughing_ of all things.

Jinyoung sits back, confused: Jaebeom’s laughter is bright and happy, but ... this is not how he thought this would go.

“No, come back here,” Jaebeom gasps out between peals of laughter, reaching out with both hands now to pull Jinyoung back to him. They both slide closer to each other and Jinyoung hastily uncrosses his legs, lets Jaebeom put him into his lap before their knees collide. “I’m sorry, Jinyoungie, it’s just — hearing you say that after so long...”

“You’re mad,” Jinyoung tells him, leaning in to press their foreheads together. The tips of their noses squish together. “Crazy.”

“I’m crazy for you,” Jaebeom teases, and holds him close even as Jinyoung writhes from the sheer cheesiness of it.

He groans instead, and raises his hands from where they’ve been haplessly by his side to pinch Jaebeom’s cheeks. “Stop it,” he complains.

“Make me,” Jaebeom says, eyes sparkling. Pressed this close, he can feel the low timbre of Jaebeom’s off-camera voice rumble through his chest.

So Jinyoung leans back to get enough space, and then runs a deliberate hand down Jaebeom's chest, traces a line down the gap in his yukata, down the divot between his jumping abdominal muscles, lets his fingertips rest against Jaebeom’s belly button. He looks up through his lashes, through the freshly-showered fall of his hair across his brow, and smiles when he hears Jaebeom's breath catch.

“Jinyoung-ah,” Jaebeom growls, and then Jinyoung’s hand is caught between them as Jaebeom presses forward abruptly, the hand not in the small of Jinyoung’s back coming up to cup the nape of his neck and tilt their faces together. He pauses yet _again_ , though, so close that Jinyoung’s eyes are in danger of crossing, raising his eyebrows in a silent, “Okay?”

Jinyoung puffs out an exasperated breath. “We’ve been closer than this before with just a piece of plastic between, I think —”

And so Jaebeom kisses Jinyoung with personal intent for the first time smiling into his mouth, sweetly clumsy and awkward with laughter. He settles with Jinyoung’s fingers stroking through his hair, and shudders when Jinyoung frees his other one to slide up inside of his yukata, peeling it further open.

“Jinyoung-ah,” he says hoarsely, pulling away for air. “What are you —”

“I’m touching you,” Jinyoung says, hand curved over his ribs, one thumb just shy of his nipple, and eyebrows raised as imperiously as he can manage.

Jaebeom stares at him — and god, if Jinyoung thought he stared before it’s nothing compared to _now_ , when they’ve given each other and themselves permission. Jinyoung flicks his thumb and Jaebeom moans, before diving in again.

*

He wakes up to the sound of rushing water and sunlight filtered through mottled white paper onto his face.

It is far too bright, so he rolls over and — oh, ow.

His sound of discontent is greeted by quiet laughter, and then — oh, Jaebeom is lifting the blankets and burrowing his way onto the thick, soft futon closer and closer to Jinyoung.

Jinyoung is very naked and suddenly a lot more awake, especially when Jaebeom doesn’t stop until they’re tangled up together. He’s managed to wriggle half under Jinyoung, so that Jinyoung’s face is buried in the soft, warm skin of his shoulder. Jaebeom smells nice: soap clean and vaguely musky.

“Hi,” Jaebeom whispers, nuzzling into the side of his head.

The events of the previous night are all falling into place now: his unexpected tearing down of their house of cards, the way he felt like a lock had finally clicked into place. Kissing and laughing and touching, hands wandering with wonder. Getting fucked into the other futon and returning the favour a few hours after they’d both fallen asleep, before they’d migrated this one.

No wonder he feels so sore, like he’s done three concerts in two days.

“Morning,” Jinyoung mumbles belatedly. “We should leave them a really big tip.”

He can feel Jaebeom shaking with laughter underneath him.

“What? Futons’re hard to clean.”

“I know, I know.” The naked affection is almost too much to bear. “It’s just ... very like you to think of this.”

“Hmmm.” Jinyoung is so warm and comfortable, wrapped up here in Jaebeom’s arms, Jaebeom’s voice almost like a physical sensation, that he’s on the verge of drifting off to sleep again. “Let’s sleep again. ‘m tired. And sore.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Jaebeom’s voice is sweet and viscous as honey. Jinyoung wants to smear himself in it. The endearment registers a few seconds later; unexpectedly, he likes it. He likes it a lot. “Do you want a massage?”

“Aren’t you sore too?” Jinyoung manages, still drowning a little in the wake of _baby_.

Jaebeom’s thoughtful hum buzzes through the both of them. “Not as much as you,” he concludes. “I think. You were tired, the second time around. But I liked it.”

“Good,” Jinyoung mumbles, kissing his shoulder lightly. A little starburst of surprised pleasure ricochets around his ribs, that he’s allowed this. That they’ve finally come to this place, at long last. Then remembering Jaebeom’s question: “Later. Sleep now.”

Jaebeom kisses him on the crown of his head, and slides an arm over Jinyoung’s waist.

Voice still sweet, like he’s crooning one of his love songs, he says, “Okay, baby. I’ll be here.”

**끝**

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you liked this hit that kudos button and [give this thing an RT](https://twitter.com/forochel/status/1152257599007539200?s=09)! 
> 
> also, yes: this is basically me living out my travel dreams vicariously through fic. [natagiri pass](http://yamagatakanko.com.e.db.hp.transer.com/spotdetail/?data_id=2637) exists. [ginzan onsen](http://www.ginzanonsen.jp/) is a real town; [this](http://www.ginzanonsen.jp/sansaku/pdf/ginkodosansaku.pdf) is the short walk they took to the mines; this is [the bakery](http://www.meiyuu.com/haikara/html/menu.htm); this is [the soba soft serve](http://izunohana.com/menu-cafe); and the ryokan is v specifically [one I had in mind](http://www.kozankaku.com/room.html).


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